


Flipside

by QuagmireMarch



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Victor Nikiforov is Extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25946503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuagmireMarch/pseuds/QuagmireMarch
Summary: When Yuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov end up switching bodies they learn more about each other--and themselves--then they could have imagined.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 152
Kudos: 347





	1. The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I am doing, so please bear with me as I figure this site out. Thanks.

Yuri Katsuki woke with the incessant chime of the alarm shrilling in counterpoint to the ache swirling through his head. Pain pressed him down into the mattress like a physical force. A hangover? He had drank...a lot...at the banquet. He’d lost count sometime around six flutes of champagne?

Probably more since he remembered nothing of the night beyond seeking to forget the pain of his many losses that day. Flashes of Vicchan blinked behind his eyes, sharp tears welling instantly.

Only to be swept away as another pulse of pure agony made Yuri’s whole body go rigid. Something like sinus pressure but so, so much worse that radiated from the base of his skull into his shoulders. He steeled himself to be sick, but surprisingly, as the misery passed, it left only a faint tingling exhaustion behind. He felt none of the nausea that usually accompanied his alcohol-based overindulgences, rare as those might be.

His relief was short-lived. Someone was pounding on his door. A very angry someone. Screaming in Russian.

Now, Yuri spoke Russian. Fluently, in fact. Much like he spoke Japanese, English, and French. Plus, being functionally fluent in Thai, and a spattering of Italian. Being a polyglot helped immensely in his linguistics major. It did not help make sense of the angry shouting from the other side of the door.

“Vitya! I swear, if you are still sleeping, I am going to...”

The voice faded into static as two things registered at once. One, the man outside was Yakov Feltsman. And, two, this was not Yuri’s room. Suddenly panicked, Yuri whirled around looking for, well, Victor, he assumed since he couldn’t think of another person that might be called Vitya. Probably he should also find his glasses, he thought as he frantically patted himself down….and his pants.

Why was he in _Victor Nikiforov’s_ room wearing nothing but pink boxers with poodles on them? When did he even get those boxers? Unless they were—Yuri felt his face go red. He imagined steam streaming from his ears like some kind of cartoon character.

The banging redoubled on the door, and with no Victor magically appearing to deal with it, Yuri scrabbled to find clothes. It was as he took in the tidy room and neatly packed suitcases that he had another cascade of mind-blowing epiphanies. First, he could see. Without his glasses. Which appeared to be nowhere to be found. Second, the only clothes not packed away were a pair of soft grey trousers and a matching sweater that would never fit him in a hundred million years. Three, either Yakov Feldmen had a key or housekeeping had let him in because the banging on the door stopped only long enough for the man to storm in and shake Yuri like a ragdoll. Albeit, apparently a well-loved doll since the force used was surprisingly gentle. Huh.

“We leave for the airport in ten minutes. Why are you not even dressed?”

“Um...” Yuri’s eyes darted around the room as if he might see something, anything that made this exchange make sense. “I think there’s been a...misunderstanding, Mr. Feltsman.”

“Misunderstanding?” The older man’s face went straight to puce. “ _Mr. Feltsman_! What game are you playing now? Get dressed. I expect you in the lobby in eight minutes. Eight, Vitya!” And before Yuri could respond the coach stormed out, door slamming hard enough to shake the room.

What the hell? Nothing about this morning made sense. Desperate to shake himself loose from what had to be a particularly surreal nightmare, Yuri went into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. Instead, he caught sight of his reflection.

Or well, a reflection, because when his eyes locked on the mirror, it was Victor Nikiforov’s face that looked back at him.

Yuri promptly stumbled the rest of the way into the bathroom and threw up.

##

Okay, admittedly after he’d helped the very drunk, very, very adorable, very, very, almost painfully exquisite Yuri Katsuki safely back to his room after the banquet, Victor may have spent a few minutes (hours) dreaming about how he wanted to learn every inch of the other man by heart. The fantasies were creative, vivid, detailed. But none of them had included waking up actually wearing Katsuki’s body.

Really, that just took all the fun out of it, right? And, oh yeah, should have been patently impossible. Should have been being the important phrase because after several hours of standing in front of a mirror, trying to go back to sleep and wake up in his own body, doing random searches on real-life body swapping (and considering swearing off the internet forever as a result), Victor still found himself quite solidly, well, not Victor.

He kept waiting to freak out. That seemed like the right reaction to this blatantly impossible situation. The panic never came. Instead, as Victor met the caramel eyes that had frankly wreaked him the night before, the strongest emotions that battled within him were excitement and relief.

Victor thrives on surprises and this certainly qualified. Besides! If he was Yuri then it stood to reason that Yuri was him. They’d have to spend a lot time figuring out what happened, how to fix it. A lot of time in close proximity. Maybe even building on that connection they’d formed at the banquet. Definitely that. If American movies had taught him anything strange things only happened so people could fall in love or end up dead, and he refused to believe this wasn’t one of the first scenarios.  
  


If as an added bonus he happened to get a break from the expectations and pressures that came with being, well, him, then who could fault Victor from making the best of a bad situation. Right?

Right.

Whistling, Victor sauntered over to the overflowing suitcase and started getting dressed. First, he would find Yuri and they would talk. Victor found a pair of jeans and a soft, oversized sweater. Not exactly high fashion, but tolerable. Unlike the blue tie he spotted on a chair. Yuri had worn that last night and it was as hideous as the man who’d worn it had been beautiful. Victor tossed it in the trash. He’d buy Yuri a new one. Something less awful. The man would surely understand.  
  
Now, Victor just had to find him.


	2. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to go very wrong for poor Victor and Yuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't speak Russian, French, or Japanese. And I don't want to embarrass anyone with Google translate attempts, especially myself, so assume unless otherwise noted people are speaking their native languages unless noted otherwise. Thanks. Also, much language in this chapter.

Victor imagined dozens of scenarios for his meeting with Yuri: spotting each other in the lobby and running into one another’s arms, a quiet and intense discussion over coffee, dancing in the streets during a gentle rain (okay, so more like blinding snow storm, what with it being Russia, but that lacked both flair and romance). What he had not considered was being utterly unable to find the man at all.

He did, however, spot Chris. And Chris knew everything about everyone so he’d definitely be able to point Victor in Yuri’s direction. So, grin wide, he sprinted over to the man. “Chris! Chris! I need your help!”

Chris turned, his typical flirtatious smile edged by just a little confusion. “Yuri? Are you...you look different.” He raked a heated and intent gaze from Yuri’s hair down to his feet. Slowly.  
  
Victor felt both jealous irritation at Chris looking at his Yuri that way, and a wave of pride. After all, Victor had spent far too long getting the look just right. The hair had been hardest, what with Victor getting easily distracted by it being so _fluffy and thick._ Also, recalcitrant. No matter how hard he tried it just would not stay completely contained. Victor gave up after he remembered to shove Yuri’s glasses on and realized the loose strands just heightened the sheer hotness that was Yuri Katsuki with hair back and glasses on.

A view poor Victor didn’t get to enjoy outside the hotel mirror because, as Chris’s confusion reminded him, Victor currently _was_ Yuri. “Oh,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, just trying something new. I don’t suppose you’ve seen,” he hesitated just a moment, the act of saying his own name punching home how surreal his current situation truly was, “um, Victor, have you?”

Both mischief and understanding flooded Chris’s face and he smirked down at Victor. “Ah, I see, mon cher.” He winked. “You should make an effort more often. It suits you. Alas, I’m afraid the lovely Mr. Nikiforov was whisked away some time ago with the rest of the Russian contingent. An early flight, I think I heard.” Chris leans close, close enough Victor can feel hot breath against his ear, “Perhaps I can offer you an alternative distraction?”

Backing away more from shock than to avoid Chris’s (probably not serious) advances, Victor felt his eyes go wide. “He left? Left! To Saint Petersburg!”  
  
Chuckling Chris stepped back into Victor’s personal space. “I would imagine, yes. It is, cheri, where he lives after all. “My own flight, however, isn’t for several more hours, perhaps--”  
  


“I have to go.” Victor turned and hurried away, mind racing. He left. Yuri left. And he took Victor’s body with him! This...this was not part of the plan.

##

After several long minutes getting his epic panic attack in check, Yuri started thinking. He needed to figure this out, to fix this. That meant leaving the room. So, first, clothes. He could do clothes. He’d been wearing clothes his whole life.

He’d just never had to get dressed while trying not to touch—or look—at the body the clothes went on. But this was not his body and it felt...invasive…to linger over the softness of Victor’s skin or to notice the soft freckles across his shoulders.

Yuri felt his cheeks burn as he buttoned the pants as quickly as fumbling, shaking hands could manage. His throat felt tight and his breathing raced again, anxiety burning like bitter oranges on the back of his tongue. The shirt went faster, easier, though the way it slid to reveal sharp, delicate collarbones—No! No. Breathe, focus. Yuri needed...he needed help.

Diving for the phone he remembered seeing on the end table, he grabbed the device desperate to reach out to someone, anyone, that might make this make sense. Or at least believe him. Only one person came to mind. Phichit.

The phone was locked. Yuri didn’t know the code. He punched in Victor’s birthday, the date of his first gold medal, all ones. Finally, desperate and pulling up every single bit of trivia he could remember about Victor, he tried his dog’s birthday. It worked.

Just in time for the hotel room door to burst open again and unleash a furious, blond whirlwind. Yuri Plisetsky. The boy didn’t even speak at first, just kicked Yuri twice before grabbing the waiting suitcase and stalking towards the door.

When it became clear Yuri wasn’t following though, the suitcase came flying at his head. “What? Are you still fucking drunk, old man? Get moving or I will drag your unconscious ass down to the damn lobby. Yakov is pissed and I am not listening to him scream for the whole damn flight just because your tired ass is slow.”

“I don’t...” Yuri rubbed the back of his neck. “I can...um...get a different flight. Maybe?”  
  
Plisetsky turned and glowered. “A different—this is about Katsuki, isn’t it? You’re planning something stupid and dramatic and--”  
  
“No!” Yuri waved his hands in front of him as if he could erase the words from the air. “I just...I...don’t feel good?”

“Bullshit.” Plisetsky twisted his hand in the front of Yuri’s shirt and tugged. Hard. “I’m not letting you pull this shit now, Victor. You are getting on that damn plane, and we are going home. You can pine later. Now, pick up your fucking suitcase unless you want to leave it here.”

Pine? Why would Victor be pining? And Yuri had thought him wanting to stay had something to do with, well, him. Did the Russian Punk know they had switched bodies? (Had they switched? Or was there a second Katsuki Yuri out there? No, they must have switched. That made sense...more sense...than the alternative.)  
  
Lost in his thoughts, Yuri barely managed to retrieve the suitcase as Yuri Plisetsky bodily dragged him from the room and into the lobby. His brain didn’t really manage to reengage until he found himself sitting on an airplane, in first class, with Yuri and Yakov yelling at each across the aisle.

Yuri focused on his breathing. He couldn’t afford another panic attack. No matter how much he felt like he probably deserved one right now.


	3. Homecomings...Sort Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Victor end up in each others' hometowns. It's about as weird as one might expect.

Russia sucked. Hauled on a wave of yelling coach and violent teenager from the airport straight to the door of what had to be Victor’s apartment, Yuri lamented ever wanting to come to this accursed land of devastating performances, perpetually angry men, and _actual, honest to God curses_. At least, Yuri could only assume that was what had led him to being trapped in the body of his long-time idol. Also known as the single good thing ever produced by this awful hellscape of a country. And this insane body swap turned even that into a nightmare.

It took Yuri .002 seconds to revise his opinion when he opened the door to Victor’s place and fifty pounds of soft brown fur and boundless joy caught him straight in the chest. Russia had exactly two redeeming features, and they both lived in this one apartment.

Wrangling himself, Makkachin, and the suitcase inside, Yuri closed the door behind him and slid with his back against it to rest on the floor. Makka promptly wiggled against his side and gave one quick, tentative lick to his nose.

Tears sprang forth and flooded Yuri’s face. Makka looked so much like Vicchan. But, as he buried his face into her cottony curls and felt her calming weight settle against him while he sobbed, somehow in the glass shatters of his heart, Yuri started to feel something like peace. Not completely. The pain remained, the pieces of his emotions still shattered, but lessened, the sharp edges soothed to make way for the start of healing.

By the time his grief had settled to periodic sniffling, Yuri had found his balance. With it came clarity. Impossible as it seemed, he’d been stuck in Victor’s body. So far, he’d handled it by, well, not handling it. It was well-past the time to _do_ something.

He didn’t know Phichit’s number. Stored in his contacts, Yuri had never had to memorize it. He could Skype. Victor had to have a laptop somewhere. With a determined nod, Yuri stood and finally took in his surroundings. Clean, open, modern.

Sad.

Yuri blinked, unsure where that thought came from. With knick-knacks and books and throw blankets, the place should have felt homey. Yet, when Yuri looked around it felt...fragile, like a facade of what a home should look like without the details that made it real. Set dressing, lonely and incomplete.

Probably, he figured as he shook his head, his own emotions colored his impressions. Not to mention the fact the aesthetic, sleek and almost industrial, clashed wildly with Yuri’s memories of home—both at the onsen, clean but cluttered with memories and photos and the hodgepodge accumilation of not only his family’s lives, but of bits and pieces of hundreds of friends and guests over decades—and his small apartment in Detroit, always brimming with books and equipment and the overwhelming force of Phichit.

After all that anything would feel cold. Right?

Still, the sensation exacerbated Yuri’s unease at snooping around someone else’s space. Intruding in a place he’d never been invited. That it was _Victor’s_ space made it worse. But, he needed to contact his friend, if only so he could start truly processing the sheer insanity of the last...twelve hours.

Had it really only been twelve hours since he woke up in Victor’s body. It felt both interminably longer and like it had barely just happened.

Two hours later, growling and sweaty Yuri conceded defeat. He’d looked everywhere. Discovered Victor loved both classic literature and epic fantasy, which he read in three languages, knew Makka had three separate toy bins, a bed in every room—including the bathroom—and he had stumbled upon Victor’s hidden stash of porn and...toys.

Yuri’s face still burned from that.

What he had not found anywhere was a laptop, desktop, or even a tablet. Victor had an office. Lovely and tasteful with a laquer black desk and comfy leather armchair. And a typewriter. An honest to god _typewriter_. What. The. Hell?

Fine. Fine! Yuri threw himself on the couch pouting as he gently rubbed Makka’s ears. He still had Victor’s phone. He knew the passcode now. And there was one number he did have memorized. With trembling fingers Yuri took a deep breath and dialed.

  
The voicemail picked up immediately. “Um...hello...um, this is Katsuki Yuri. Please leave a message.”  
  
Yuri’s mind went completely blank. What did you say in a situation like this? Hey, hi, I’m squatting in your body, wanna meet for coffee? I’m sorry I stole your life and ransacked your apartment, but I didn’t mean it so please give me my body back? I’m totally in love with your poodle and also maybe you so could we talk?

Choking, Yuri ended up gasping out a strangled, “Call me,” before hanging up, throwing the phone, and burying his face as far in the couch cushions as he could manage.

##

Victor loved everything about Detroit. People of all kinds bustled around as Cialdini chatted nonstop about routines and next year and not letting things get him down, but Victor barely heard it, too busy taking in the cluttered streets and eclectic people and strange, uniquely _American_ vibe. He’d been to America before, of course, for competitions, but he’d never really been _in_ it, limited to rinks and hotels and whatever resteraunts and cafes existed in a two block radius of those places.

Now, nestled in a cab taking him to the off-campus apartment where Yuri lived, he watched from the window as a completely different world streamed by. Or maybe, Victor realized as the grey wash waking up as Yuri—that _meeting_ Yuri--had dispelled edged back around his thoughts, not so different from Saint Petersburg. How would he really know? Other than walking Makka and the occassional shopping trip his time there basically encompassed his aparment, the rink, and the short jog between the two. Maybe all these colors and scenes existed there, too, lost to him in his focus on the ice and winning and trying, always trying, for one more surprise, one greater thrill.

When had that quest to enthrall the audience stopped being a joy and become an obligation? When had Victor become so _tired_?

An excellent question he had no time to ponder as the cab came to a stop and the door got wrenched open before Victor even finished paying the driver.   
  
“Yuri!” The small, dark-skinned man practically dragged Victor from the cab and into a hug. “Welcome home!”

Victor hugged back out of habit, mind whirling. Who? He didn’t look Japanese, so not related to Yuri. A friend? A...boyfriend?

Victor’s heart stuttered and stopped for a moment at the thought. Yuri hadn’t mentioned a significant other at the banquet. Surely the man wouldn’t have danced with Victor like _that_ if he had a partner back home?

The other boy pulled away, brows furrowed, and Victor realized he’d been standing statue still, arms like limp noodles, for far too long. “Oh. Sorry. I--”  
  
“It’s okay, Yuri,” the boy said as he squeezed Victor with one arm again before grabbing the suitcase the cabby had left on the curb and heading inside. “I get it,” he said over his shoulder as he walked. “And I’m so sorry to hear about Vicchan. I know how important he was to you.”

Vicchan? Who? What? At a complete loss, Victor remained silent, and thankfully, the boy in front of him didn’t seem to take that amiss. Yet.


	4. Dogs and Other Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor takes decisive action and Yuri panics. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really beginning to understand why people us the Victor Nikiforov is Extra tag...

The younger man let Victor get exactly five steps into the apartment before wrapping him up in another hug. “It’s going to be okay, you know. It probably doesn’t feel like it right now, and if you need to cry--”

“Thanks, but I’m good. Really.” Victor pulled back from the hug, not escaping, but creating a bit of space, and tossed his...whatever this guy was to Yuri...a smile. Victor wasn't sure which one he managed. Yuri had a _lot_ of different smiles: open and brighter than the sun, slow and sultry, comforting as slipping into a warm bath, enigmatic, sexy.

Victor may have gotten a bit lost in remembering every look Yuri had tossed at him the night before. Not least of which had been that smirk. Dear god in heaven, that smirk. But, yeah, he could be forgiven for not noticing right away that the other guy had released his grip and stepped away. To stare at him.

“You’re,” the dark-haired guy folded his arms, brows furrowed, “good? Good? Really?”

Maybe he got the wrong smile. Victor widened his eyes innocently and shrugged. “Yes?”

“Uh huh. Give me your phone.”

  
“What?”

“Your phone, Yuri.” He held his hand out and tapped one foot impatiently. “Give it to me.”

Victor took the device, still off from the flight and safely in it’s frankly _darling_ poodle case, out and clutched it to his chest. “Why?”

“You’re clearly having some kind of breakdown. I need to call your sister.” The boy darted forward and tried to snatch the phone from Victor’s grasp.

“Call her from your phone.”

“I don’t have her number.” Quick fingers danced across Victor’s side, making him almost drop the phone. Apparently Yuri, in addition to being stunning and bold and all kind of wonderful, was fantastically and inordinately ticklish.

Victor needed to prevent contact with Yuri’s family at all cost. At least until he actually talked to Yuri and they could figure this mess out. Besides, they’d want to talk to him, and they probably did that in Japanese. Which Victor did not speak. At all.  
  
He fell to the floor, elbows tight to his side, knees up, and wrapped around the phone like a soldier on a grenade. “Good.”

A toe nudged Victor gently in the side. “What the actual fuck, Yuri?”

When Victor risked lifting his head to look at the other boy, he saw him staring, eyes wide and white-rimmed with genuine concern and maybe even a little fear. Guilt washed through Victor. He’d managed to worry Yuri’s boyfriend. A boyfriend Yuri entirely failed to mention the entire time they’d danced together. A boyfriend Victor kind of wanted to dump on Yuri’s behalf right this moment.

Except that’d be wrong. Very wrong. Especially since this guy clearly cared for Yuri. A lot. Something he and Victor apparently had in common. So, instead, he needed to de-escalate this whole situation. Try to buy some time until he and Yuri could figure things out. In a perfect world that would involve Yuri, back in his own body, letting Boyfriend down gently before he and Victor ran off to run a poodle sanctuary in the French Riviera.

Yuri smiles weren’t working, so as he unfolded and sat up, phone carefully tucked under his butt and out of reach still, he tried a Victor smile instead. Complete with a little hair flip and a wink. “I’m fine, baby. Just tired from the flight.”

“ _Baby?”_ The word came out choked as Boyfriend literally leapt back as if scalded. “You just...I... _What_?”

Victor blinked, index finger pressed to his lip as he pondered the unexpected reaction. Yuri—confident, sexy Yuri—had definitely called Victor baby at least once. Well, three times actually, not that Victor had been counting. (He had been. He absolutely had been. And maybe, just maybe trying to gently figure out how to get Yuri to do it more.) So, why did Yuri’s actual _boyfriend_ act—unless he wasn’t Yuri’s boyfriend.

  
Oh. Oh no. He’d just kind of sort of hit on Yuri’s….friend? Roomate? Possibly straight either of those things. Hopefully straight either of those things because between Chris, Sara, and the two thirds of the ISU who’d been drooling at Yuri’s pole dance, Victor really didn’t need more people to fend off his maybe, hopefully, soon-to-be-boyfriend love of his life. Rubbing the back of his neck, Victor felt his cheeks flush. “Um, sorry.”

Not Boyfriend rubbed his eyes. Then he gracefully collapsed into a relaxed lotus position on the ground next to Victor, just close enough to reach over and rest a comforing hand on his knee. “You never need to be sorry with me. You know that, Yuri. Just...tell me what’s going on, okay?”

“Well, you see...” Victor ran a hand through his hair and took a leap of faith. Guy already thought he was crazy so why not? “I’m kind of not...well, actually Yuri. I know you won’t believe me, but--”  
  
Not boyfriend held up a hand. “I do.”  
  
“What?”

“I believe you. At least I believe you believe you. It makes a hell of a lot more sense than Katsuki Yuri –sober Katsuki Yuri—calling _anyone_ baby. Much less _winking_.” He sighed. “You know what? Let’s start at the beginning.”  
  
“Great!” Victor beamed. “So, I think it all started at the GPF banquet. Oh, what’s your name anyway? I probably shouldn’t keep thinking of you as Not Boyfriend. You aren’t actually Yuri’s boyfriend, right? I really don’t want to have to fight you for him. I will, but it’d be nice if we could just...not.”

Once the other guy managed to stop laughing, he sputtered out, “I’m not dating Yuri. I’m however, his roommate, best friend, and chief keeper of shovels. So, you know, there’s that. My name’s Phichit Chulanont. And if not Yuri then you are who exactly?”

Victor offered his hand with a beaming smile. His Yuri had such kind, interesting friends! “Victor. Victor Nikiforov.”  
  
Phitchit’s mouth dropped open for a moment before a delighted grin bloomed on his face—though Victor noted it did not entirely erase the concern in his eyes. “Reeeaaalllly? Oh, this is going to be _good._ ”

##

Yuri kept calling his phone and it kept going straight to voicemail. He’d left long messages, short message, desperate messages. So, so many messages he’d filled the voicemail box.

He felt the panic chewing at his brain, adrenaline uselessly surging and making his heart hurt and breath come out in frantic gasps.

  
Makkachin tried to help, whimpering and licking the tears from his face as she wedged herself across his lap like a self-heating weighted blanket. Her presence eventually soothed Yuri enough to let exhaustion swamp anxiety, and he fell asleep right on the kitchen floor curled around Makka.

Which is exactly how Yuri Plisetsky found him when he stormed in an hour later.


	5. Contact and Context

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri deals with Plisetsky; Victor feeds a hamster.

“Are you fucking crying?”

Yuri kept Makkachin tucked tight in his arms as he looked up at Plisetsky through the protective curtain of Victor’s hair. “No?” Technically true. Being woken up with a kick to the side and wild screaming had startled him, but the tears welling up had not actually fallen. Yet.

The small blond gaped. “Did you hit your head after that banquet or something?”  
  
Yuri took a deep breath and dragged himself to his feet. Dealing with the angry teenager placed in the top three of a very long list of things Yuri did not want to have to handle right now, but if he had to, he wasn’t going to do it while sobbing on the floor.

He was Victor right now, and Victor deserved better than that. Better than Yuri. So, Yuri decided, for now—for Victor—he’d _be_ better. Thinking of the way Victor skated, his bold winks and smiles to the cameras, his poise with fans, Yuri squared his shoulders and donned a confidence he only really wore when dancing. Then he looked down at the younger boy with what he hoped was a friendly smile. “Don’t really remember the banquet. What do you want, Yura?”

The kid stared, and Yuri wondered if he’d messed up somehow. Yakov had used the Russian diminutive for the boy on the plane, but maybe Victor didn’t? Or, more likely, Yuri’s attempt at acting like he wasn’t one heartbeat away from a complete meltdown had been as unconvincing as he figured it would be.

“You don’t remember the banquet?” It came out as a whisper. The kid sounded oddly...betrayed? But also hopeful?

Yuri swallowed down his anxiety and offered a nonchalant shrug he hoped didn’t look like the start of a seizure. “I had a lot to drink.”

Brows furrowed and nose scrunched, Plisetsky looked so very young. “No, you didn’t. You had one glass of champagne before Katsuki showed up, and then you switched to water.” He rolled his eyes, arms crossed against his chest like the mere act of saying Yuri’s name upset him. “Not that the pig didn’t drink enough for both of you.”

Yuri winced. He’d suspected he’d overdone it at the banquet, but he’d hoped that amounted to him hiding in a corner or, even better, just slinking off to his room to pass out in peace. Should have known better. Drunk Yuri never did ‘just’ anything. No, Drunk Yuri ruined everything. In the most dramatic and embarrassing fashion possible.

But, Yuri’s mortification—and self-destructive curiosity—had no place in Victor’s response. And whatever he said next, it needed to distract Plisetsky from this problematic line of conversation. So, he shrugged again and tried on a smirk. “Why, Yura, I had no idea you watched me so closely. You don’t have a crush do you?” And look there, his voice didn’t even shake!

“Shut up, old man!” Plisetsky lunged away from Yuri as if scalded. “Don’t be disgusting! Besides I wasn’t watching _you—“_ His eyes went wide and he turned and kicked the wall hard. “I _mean_ it’s not like you didn’t make a huge fucking spectacle. You and Katsuki and Giacometti just being _awful_. Everyone saw it. It was like a fucking train wreck.”

Oh god. What did Drunk Yuri _do?_ Yuri felt his breathing speed up, his heart stutter.

  
No. _No_.  
  
Victor Nikiforov did not panic, did not crumble into tears or embarrass himself in front of teenagers. Victor Nikiforov had his shit together in a way Yuri never would. But, right now, Yuri was Victor, and he would not— _would not—_ let his idol down by dragging him to Yuri’s level.

“Yura,” Yuri said, voice firm and sure, “enough. I don’t care about the banquet. What did you come here for?”

“You don’t—then why the hell have you been such a fucking disaster? You barely said three words the entire trip back. There’s not one new photo of your stupid dog on Instagram. You called Yakov _sir_ on the plane!”

“He’s my coach.”

Plisetsky sputtered like a hissing cat for several long moments before he finally screamed, “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?”

Yuri laughed. He couldn’t help it. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” The words were choked by his giggles, but they wouldn’t stop. The sheer, total absurdity of everything had finally overwhelmed his anxiety.  
  
“You know what,” Plisetsky said after staring for too long, “I don’t fucking care. Grab your shit. We’re going skating. You still owe me a program for my senior debut.”

That got Yuri’s attention, the laughter turning to a startled coughing fit they kept him from refusing when the blond boy threw a bag at his head and pulled him out of the apartment.

##

Victor beamed at the small orange and white hamster as it sat in his cupped palms eating a strawberry almost as big as itself. “I love him!”  
  
“Of course you do,” Phitchit grinned as he snapped pictures. “He’s one of my precious darlings. Everyone loves them.”

“Does Yuri like hamsters? Or dogs? I mean he has poodles on his phone so--”

“Of course, Yuri likes hamsters! He’s a perfect cinnamon roll, and we wouldn’t be able to live together if he had such an irredeemable flaw. However,” Phitchit put the phone down, the very one Victor had commented on, _Yuri’s_ phone, “speaking of my delightful roommate, is there some reason you haven’t bothered to answer any of his many, many, many calls and texts yet. Or should I say _Victor’s_ calls and texts? Also, when did you end up in Yuri’s contacts?”

“Oh, I put my number in after the banquet.” Then Victor blinked. Once. Twice. “He...called?”  
  
“Yes,” Phitchit waved the phone at him, “a lot.”

His eyes went wide, and Victor gently set the hamster on the table before leaping to his feet and pacing. “Okay, okay. He called. Good. Good. Okay. So, um...” He looked at Phitchit, excitement and nerves making it impossible to hold still. “I...I really don’t want to mess this up, Peach. What do I do now?”  
  
Phitchit grinned and tossed him the phone. “You call him back, silly.”

“Oh.” Victor stared at the phone and willed his hands to stop shaking as he dialed.


	6. Tag, You're It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missed connections and new complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two short chapters, but you get them in one day, so I hope that makes up for it. I swear that these two doofuses will actually interact in the next chapter. 
> 
> Also, I have no idea how challenges and prompts work, but if anyone has one they want me to work on, let me know. I make no promises it'll be good, but I do like trying new things.

Yuri hurt. He’d never fallen so much doing so little on the ice. Not since his growth spurt during puberty. Realistically, he should have expected it. Victor’s body was taller and heavier than the one Yuri knew, muscled differently. It didn’t move the same.

And it hurt Yuri to think even one negative thought about his idol, but Victor really needed to do more conditioning. His body’s stamina _sucked._ Yuri had barely been on the ice for two hours, and much of that on his ass, when he needed to take a break. Fortunately, he’d finally started to figure out the adjustments he needed to actually be able to skate.  
  
Not like Victor skated. Yuri couldn’t do that in his own body, much less an unfamiliar one. But, enough to maybe not make a complete fool out of himself.

  
Thank god Plisetsky had chased everyone out of the rink with his foul mood before they started this horror show. Unfortunately, Yura himself had stuck around.

“Are you still drunk?” The boy skated up, ice flakes following like a tide. “What is wrong with you?”

Yuri waved a hand and tried for that easy carelessness Victor often displayed in interviews. “Just trying something new.”  
  
“Yeah, well, it sucks. You’re supposed to be choreographing for me, not...whatever the fuck that’s been. Can you stop screwing around now?”

Yuri leaned against the boards and gulped down some water before he so much as looked at the younger boy. “Keep it up, Yura, and I’ll have you skating to something from _Destiny_ _.”_ Yuri figured the teen wouldn’t love the idea of a Beatles’ routine, much less one from a video game.

“Is that some lame old man band or something?”

“What? No, it’s a game. First person shooter. It—you know what nevermind. What do you want to skate to? Classical?”

“Since when do you play video games?”  
  


Yuri tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. Being Victor was exhausting. “I...don’t?”

“Good. As shitty as you’ve been today, you don’t need anymore distractions before Nationals.” Plisetsky glanced over at him, face conflicted as he handed over Victor’s phone, which Yuri had placed on silent when they started—ringing cellphones could lead to serious injuries if they startled someone at the wrong time. “Which is why you should probably deal with the fact that Katsuki’s been calling you for the last twenty minutes.”

  
“What?” Yuri choked on the water he’d been drinking and fell on his butt. Again.

##

Victor rested his forehead against the cool tile of the two-person table in Yuri’s kitchen. “Why, Phichit? Why isn’t he answering?”

“Maybe he’s sleeping. What time is it in Russia?”

Victor had no idea. “It might be late. Should I wait and see if he calls back? What if he doesn’t? But there’s no reason he wouldn’t, right?”  
  
Phichit looked away, eyes on the floor.  
  
“What? Peach, what? Why wouldn’t he call. Does he hate me? He hates me doesn’t he? And here I’ve gone and stolen his—why are you laughing?”

Somewhere in his little rant Phichit had started wheezing. Now he was barely staying in his chair. “Okay. You know, I figured for a while this was….I don’t know….like some kind of anxiety breakdown, but...you really are Victor Nikiforov, aren’t you?”

“Who else would I be?” Victor stared at the Thai man like he’d grown a second head. Which just made Phichit laugh even harder.

“Because of course,” Phi managed between gasps, “who else would hijack Yuri’s body. It’d have to be Victor Nikiforov.” He stopped, a grin on his face and mischief in his eyes. “Actually, in a weird way, it really would. Look, Vic, Yuri can be a little anxious. He’s probably working up the courage to talk to you, and if he doesn’t call soon then I’ll call him and talk him into it, but in the meantime, there is something you really, really need to see.”

“Anxious? But the Yuri at the banquet--”  
  
“Drunk Yuri. Completely different guy. Well, not really, but definitely bolder. And Sober Yuri probably won’t remember. I swear, he makes himself forget just to avoid being embarrassed.”  
  
“Oh.” Victor deflated. He’d...the time he’d spent at the banquet had meant everything to him. If Yuri had forgotten it…  
  
Phichit seemed to understand the change in mood, but instead of letting Victor mope, he grabbed his hand and tugged. “Trust me, this is going to cheer you up. Besides, once you and Yuri actually talk you can make all new memories.”

Victor stood, the idea of more time with Yuri already making him feel better. They’d have all the time in the world once they figured out this body switching thing. “Where are we going?”

  
“I,” Phichit said with a blinding smile, “am about to show you Yuri’s room.”


	7. Red Letter Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dorks finally actually talk. Sort of.

Yuri’s room both delighted and concerned Victor. The posters definitely proved Yuri didn’t hate him, but...he didn’t want Yuri to be just another fan either. Victor had plenty of fans. He needed...well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he needed, but somehow at the banquet Yuri had managed to be everything he’d never realized Victor missed. He needed that back.

However, Victor saw more than his own face in the room, too. He saw the piles of books in so many languages, the corkboard covered in ballet ticket stubs and photos of Yuri with a variety of happy people, a framed picture of a little poodle lovingly placed on the nightstand. So much love and passion. “He has a _poodle_?”

Phichit nodded, but something in his expression made it feel like this might be a sore topic, so Victor let the subject drop and moved on.

Running his hand over the glossy cover of _Dead Souls_ in the original Russian, Victor looked up at Phichit with a small smile. “He speaks Russian?”  
  
“Yeah,” Phi shook his head with an indulgent grin, “and like five other languages. His whole family is like that.”

“Really? Are they academics or just world travelers?”  
  
Phichit snorted. “Neither. They run an onsen—a hot spring resort. I guess they decided early on at least one member of the family needed to be able to communicate with foreign guests? Anyway, Yuri picks languages up scary fast.”

“Good.” Victor nodded as he continued to explore the room. “At least he’s not unable to communicate back in Saint Petersburg. I worried.” His voice trailed off as he reached Yuri’s closet. It was well-organized, one of those storage systems made of cheap metal and plastic set up in place of a dresser. Folded items were sorted by color and type, the only hanging items a few pairs of slacks, a handful of oversized sweaters, and, to Victor’s delight, a gorgeous black ballet costume. “He dances in performances?”  
  


“When he can. Skating keeps him busy, but he has a dance minor and he does exhibitions, mostly ballet but sometimes contemporary or tap, in the off-season. Says it helps him stay in shape.”

“That it does,” Victor sighed, remembering quite clearly how fit Yuri had been while dancing mostly undressed. He ran a hand over one of the sweaters, trying to imagine the man he knew wearing it. Wearing any of these clothes.

He couldn’t. They didn’t fit the vibrancy of the bold dancer, or even the quiet brilliance of the loving man displayed in this room. They belonged to someone ordinary, and Yuri was anything but. Yuri was exceptional.

“Peach,” he said slowly, “this won’t do. This closet is a tragedy. _A crime scene._ ”  
  


Phichit fell back on the bed chortling. “Okay, but what are we going to do about it?”

“Well, obviously we’re going to _fix it_. Come on. We’re going shopping.”

##

The phone had barely hit Yuri’s hand and been taken out of silent before ringing. He stared at the display—Yuri <3 <3 <3—frozen for the space of four rings. Victor had his number in his contacts? With hearts? How? Why?

He didn’t get a chance to recover before Plisetsky had ripped it out of his hand and answered, apparently on speaker. “The fuck did you do to the old man, Katsuki? He’s a goddamn disaster.”

“Aw, kitten! I didn’t know you cared!”

“Kitten?” Yura’s face had gone red as he stared at the phone like it bit him. Yuri could relate. He wasn’t even part of this conversation and he wanted to sink into the ice and die already.

Plisetsky recovered first. “I _don’t_ care. I just need him to focus to choreograph my program and right now he can’t even land a quad Salchow….

Yuri realized the teenager had trailed off to stare at him. “You...” The boy looked back at the phone, then to Yuri again. “Video games. Mr. Feltsman. Sir.” Yura continued to gape. “I...” He thrust the phone into Yuri’s hands. “You need to take this. I’ll be...somewhere.”

With shaking hands, Yuri took the phone though he watched Plisetsky hurry off with worried eyes. “Hello?” He answered in Russian since that had been the language Yura had used.

“Yuri! Finally! Tell me, how do you feel about red? Orange might be a bit much, but I think red would go so well with your hair--”  
  
“What?” Yuri slid against the boards to sit on the ice as he turned the speakerphone off. His gaze continued to linger where Plisetsky had disappeared. The poor kid had looked freaked out. Again, Yuri could relate.

“For your new clothes, of course. Phichit says you prefer blue, and it does look delightful on you, but you need more vibrancy, too.”  
  
“Um...Victor? This is Victor, right?”

“Of course, darling. Who else would it be?”  
  
Yuri winced. “Um...well, you know...this is...not normal, and I was...not sure? And, also, maybe we should talk about the whole...not ourselves thing...instead of...clothes?”

“Right! But, Yuri, I can’t talk about that in the middle of the mall, right? So, why don’t we set up a time we can, and in the meantime we can discuss how unfairly gorgeous you look in purple?”

“Gorgeous?” Yuri squeaked, the whole world seeming to tilt thirty degrees. Victor called _him_ gorgeous. What kind of weird parallel universe had he fallen into? His brain overloaded, words failing in every language. He barely managed to keep breathing, much less responding to the haze of words that continued through the phone.

“I can talk in an hour.” Yuri finally managed to choke out. “Call me then.” He hung up before Victor could respond. Still gasping, he got to his feet, butt numb and wet from the ice, and went to find Yura.

They probably needed to talk. And Yuri needed someone to show him how to get back to Victor’s apartment.


	8. Can You Hear Me Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations happen.

Yuri searched, but in the end Plisetsky found him in the locker room first. With a swift kick to the back. “Why aren’t you talking to...” His voice trailed off. The boy sounded uncharacteristically vulnerable.

It worried Yuri. They hadn’t known each other long, but Yura’s, let’s call it passion, had grown on Yuri somewhat. Like a fungus. “He’s busy. I’m talking to him in a little bit.” Yuri turned and looked down at Yura. The boy had his face down and shoulders up. “You okay?”  
  
Yura let out a long breath that sounded kind of like a hiss. “ _I’m_ fine. You’re the one being weird as hell.” Green eyes looked Yuri over as if inspecting him for sale.

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s been--”  
  
“You’re not Victor, are you?”

Wincing, Yuri sat hard on the bench. Long moments passed as he fiddled with the string of his hoodie, utterly at a loss for a response. He sucked at lying, but would Yura really believe the truth? _Yuri_ barely believed it, and he had no choice.

A foot slammed down on the bench in front of Yuri. “It’s a yes or no question, not a fucking riddle. Are you Victor or not?”

Yuri looked up and met hard green eyes. Yura glowered, but there was a shadow in those eyes that physically hurt. The answer mattered to the younger boy, and Yuri realized he’d never really had a choice. He needed help if he wanted to avoid wreaking Victor’s life. “No. I’m not.”

Something in Yuri eased and he slumped all the way down until he was kneeling on the floor by the bench. “Okay. Okay. That...makes sense.”  
  
Yuri laughed, a short, sharp sound devoid of actual humor. “It does?”

Yura looked up and shrugged. “No, but neither did Victor suddenly becoming respectful and shy and a fucking crybaby.”

“You try waking up in someone else’s body and see how you handle it,” Yuri replied with a huff. At this point it was get indignant or panic and his panic switch had malfunctioned from overuse.

“Probably better than you.” Yura stood and crossed his arms. “And that doesn’t explain the sobbing in the fucking bathroom after the Grand Prix. You are Katsuki, right?”

Yuri swallowed. “I...my dog died.”

“What?”

“Before the long program. My family called.”

Plisetsky growled and swung into place sitting astride so he faced Yuri. “Okay, that sucks, but the fuck is wrong with your family?”

“Excuse me?” Yuri stared, surprised so much he pulled the strings of his hoodie hard enough to choke himself.

Yuri looked down, hair falling to cover his eyes but not the slight red flush of his cheeks. “I just...why tell you _then_? You couldn’t do anything about it, and the dog would still be gone _after_ you got a medal.”

Yuri blinked tears from his eyes and looked down at his hands in his lap now so he wouldn’t strangle himself again. “I..guess it didn’t occur to them to wait? Or they thought I’d want to know as soon as possible?” He shook his head sadly. “Doesn’t really matter. I’d have messed it all up anyway.”

A sharp smack on the top of his head made Yuri look up.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot.” Yuri let out an angry sigh and stood. “When are you talking to Victor again?”

“Forty minutes or so. He’s supposed to call me when he’s in a private place.”  
  
“Good. That gives us some time.” Yuri started heading out before pausing to glare over his shoulder. “You coming?”  
  
“Coming where?” But Yuri was already on his feet to go after the boy.  
  
“To work on your quad Salchow. I’ll be damned if I’m letting you fuck up Victor’s winning streak before I get a chance to beat him.”

Yuri smiled. A little sad, but genuine. Perhaps the first real smile he’d had since he heard about Vicchan.  
  
##

It took Victor longer than expected to get back to Yuri’s place, and even longer to get his hair in place—again!--just in case Yuri wanted to video chat. But, soon he’d settled in on the bed, the soles of his feet pressed together and elbows on his knees as a brown and white hamster ran round in the space made by his legs.

He looked around the room, half trying to find an excuse not to call. He _wanted_ to talk to Yuri. Of course he did. But, what if Yuri didn’t really want to talk to him. The guy had hung up on him last time, and while Phitchit swore up and down that was just Yuri’s anxiety, Victor still had trouble reconciling nervous with the Yuri from the GPF banquet.

Shoring up his courage, Victor dialed and waited for an answer, heart hammering in his chest. One ring, two--

“Hello?”

Victor stared down at his phone, not even realizing he’d held his breath until it escaped in a gasp. “Hi! Sorry. Just weird hearing your voice. Well, my voice. Speaking Russian even.”

“Um...wouldn’t your voice usually be speaking Russian since you are, you know, um….Russian?”

“But, Yuri,” Victor said as he blushed, “you are not. When did you even learn Russian?”

“Oh.” The word came out surprised, and Yuri spoke softer and faster when he continued. “Um, I started learning when I was twelve.”

“Because of your parents onson thing, right? Phitchit mentioned your whole family speaks multiple languages.”  
  
“It’s onsen, actually,” Yuri practically whispered now, “and, yeah. That. That’s...mostly why I learned it. Sure.” He coughed slightly. “We should...um...maybe talk about the whole body swap thing though?”

Victor nodded and then realized Yuri couldn’t see it. “Okay. So, do you have any idea how it happened or why?”

“No? I didn’t even think this kind of thing happened in real life. Did...did something strange happen at the banquet? Yura said something about it, but--”

“Yura?” Victor once again found himself staring at the phone. “You mean Yuri Plisetsky?”

“Um, yes? Anyway he--”  
  
“You call him Yura?”  
  
“Yes. So--”  
  
“And he _lets_ you?”

A loud sigh came over the line. “Victor, please, can we just focus for a minute? We need to fix this before I screw up Nationals on you.”

“Oh, Yuri,” Victor beamed down at the hamster staring back at him from the bed, “that’s the last thing you need to worry about! You’ll be amazing!”

Victor almost felt the weight of Yuri’s silence across the line before the other man finally spoke.   
  
“Victor, you have five different types of quads between your two programs. I can do _one_ of them consistently and three of them not at all. It’s going to be a disaster.”

“So, drop some of the jumps and focus on presentation. Or...” he trailed off with a grin as the idea bloomed in his mind. “Or, I can teach you.” Working with Yuri meant spending time together, getting to know each other, establishing trust, and maybe, just maybe, finally getting to explore the connection between them. It was perfect!

“But….but you’re in Detroit. And Japan’s Nationals are at the same time. I mean, not that anyone would miss me being there, but still, Ciao Ciao’d never let you go, and--”  
  
“It’s fine, Yuri. I’ll figure out a way to make it work. Besides, don’t you want to see me again?” And, yes, Victor knew he sounded petulant, but he _missed_ Yuri.  
  
“Of course, I do. I just...worry. But you’re right. If we’re going to figure out how to switch back it’ll be easier if we’re in the same place.”  
  


“Right. Switching back. That’s the important thing.” Victor frowned at the phone hoping he sounded more sincere then he felt. Switching back was an important thing. Probably. After all, he wanted to be able to _see_ Yuri. It just wasn’t quite as important to Victor as being _with_ Yuri. And Yuri didn’t seem to feel the same way about Victor.

  
Well, that was okay. They’d be together soon. Victor would just have to change Yuri’s mind.


	9. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude before the pining begins in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I needed to get these two in the same place. Hoping to have the next bit up later tonight.

Ultimately, Phichit offered the easiest solution. “Tell him you need a break. It’s not like he’ll stop you. Ciao Ciao’s a great coach but he’s never been great at dealing with Yuri’s needs. He tries to be supportive and he gives Yuri space. If you tell him you want to go, he’ll let you because he’s never told Yuri no about anything.”

Victor stared at Phichit in horror. “But, he has a competition coming up. What kind of coach lets his skater just—Peach, that makes no sense! You don’t just...he’s so _good._ Why wouldn’t Cialdini _want_ to push him?”

“I guess Ciao Ciao figures Yuri pushes himself enough.” The boy sighed. “He’s not entirely wrong. Yuri works harder than anyone, but…”  
  
“But what?”

Phichit shrugged sadly. “He doesn’t believe in himself, Vic. So, he gets up in his own head and,well, self-destructs. And, with losing Vicchan and the performance—the thing is, Yuri is stubborn and super competitive. This whole thing, it probably wreaked him. Ciao Ciao will pretty much let him do anything right now if he thinks it might help.”

“Hmm.” Victor tapped one finger against his lips as he considered. This insight into such a different version of the man he’d met actually explained a lot. Victor had gone and watched videos of Yuri’s old competitions. The man moved as if made of music, compelling and electric. Until he tried to jump. Then he became shaky. Distracted.

Uncertain.

Victor nodded to himself before looking up at Phichit with a blinding grin. “Tell Celestino I’ll be back in time for Nationals.” Then he bounded off, grabbed his skate bag, and headed straight for the airport.

Yuri needed confidence, and Victor had that to spare. He’d go and believe in Yuri enough for both of them.

##

Yura offered to come with Yuri to the airport. Well, threatened, really. For some reason the kid had decided to take Victor and Yuri switching bodies as some kind of personal insult to _him_. Yuri actually found it kind of cute how much the younger man pretended not to care.

But, he still insisted on meeting Victor alone. Perhaps in the back of his mind he hoped they’d switch back as soon as they saw each other and worried an audience would break the magic. Or more likely Yuri just didn’t want poor Yura to sit through yet another of his breakdowns. Even Yuri was sick of them at this point.

Waiting left Yuri’s skin itchy, but he’d been too afraid of missing Victor’s flight to not come ridiculously early. Which was fine. Really. Even if it meant pacing by the arrivals gate after his latest round of too many cups of coffee.

At least people had stopped asking him to sign things. Wrapped up in his worries, Yuri had forgotten that he was Victor, the Living Legend, Russian darling, most celebrated skater of his generation, an actual celebrity. Especially in Russia.

Thank god he’d put on decent clothes and remembered to brush Victor’s hair. Twice. Or maybe three times. He _really_ liked Victor’s hair. Soft and shiny and seeming to fall just so with barely a thought. Yuri felt his cheeks flush at the thought of feeling those silver strands run through his fingers. It felt wrong to take advantage of being able to touch it like that.

And just a little hollow. He didn’t just want to touch Victor’s hair. He wanted to touch _Victor_. A though that made Yuri’s face burn and hands fly up to cover his face.

Which is how he initially missed Victor’s appearance. The gasp from a man next to him pulled Yuri’s attention away from his internal mortification, however, and as soon as his eyes landed on the man bouncing towards him, Yuri figured he’d never be able to look away again.

Everyone knew Victor Nikiforov was attractive. Yuri’d been lost to those blue eyes and silver hair since before he even understood what attraction truly meant. But, if he’d ever doubted that the real power of Victor’s appeal came from the man and not the exterior, those doubts were torn to shreds by seeing how the sheer force of his personality transformed Yuri’s own lackluster appearance.

Yuri knew he’d never been anything special: prone to carrying too much weight, plain dark hair and eyes, forgettable in every way. But, now here Victor came striding towards him in a thin purple sweater that clung to muscles Yuri’d have sworn he didn’t even have, hair slicked back and eyes wide and dancing behind the familiar blue-rimmed glasses. And that smile, so open and bright it felt like the summer sun made manifest.  
  
Somehow, just by existing, Victor did the impossible. He made even Yuri’s ordinary self something beautiful.

Yuri reached out, moving almost on instinct. Victor reached back. Neither noticed the people around them taking pictures as their hands met and Yuri was pulled into a strong hug.  
  
They had other things to focus on.


	10. Reaching Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirsty Victor, fleeing Yuri. You know, the norm.

They left the airport in silence, mostly because Yuri found it utterly impossible to form words with Victor holding his hand as they walked. Why Victor remained quiet was unclear, but Yuri swore he could feel the other man watching him, his gaze heavy and warm.

Yuri refused to break his staring contest with the floor to find out if this perception was a trick of his imagination. Which it had to be. Because why would Victor want to look at him. Oh. Right. Because Yuri was Victor right now. Of course the man was curious. He probably had a list of things to fix so Yuri didn’t completely ruin his reputation until they switched back.

Outside, Yuri had to look up to lead Victor to the car, and the other man took that as some kind of invitation because he reached up and caught Yuri’s chin. “There you are, sunshine. I was starting to get jealous of that ugly carpet.”

Heat flooded Yuri’s face as he tried, and failed, to look back down. “Sun...sunshine?”

Victor pouted. “You don’t like it? Would you prefer moonbeam? Little bird, maybe?” His eyes went big, but mirth sparked behind them. Then he grinned and squeezed Yuri’s hand tighter. “Perhaps you just like the classics best, no? Darling it is then! So, tell me, darling, what troubles you so?”

Yuri gaped, his mouth opening and then shutting with a loud pop. “I...um...you...” He looked around, desperate for something, anything to make this situation snap into some semblance of sense. Nope. Not happening. But he did spot the car, so he pointed with the hand not being held by _Victor Nikiforov._ “Car. There.”

Way to go, Yuri, he thought. You sound like an idiot. He swallowed hard and let his eyes drift back to the ground even if Victor still held his chin in one hand.

“So it is.” Victor spoke slowly, expression settling into something wary and neutral as he gently released Yuri’s face.

Despite the blood still suffusing it, Yuri found his skin suddenly cold at the loss of contact. Desperate to stave off the pressing loss, he said the first thing that came to mind. “I don’t mind sunshine.”  
  
What? He’d intended to ask if Victor wanted to drive, or maybe suggest they wait to talk in the car, or, hell, compliment his sweater. Something _normal_. “I just...it surprised me. I don’t really...people don’t give me nicknames.” Why the hell was Yuri still talking? God. He looked down again and willed the ground to swallow him whole.

Which left him completely unprepared when Victor threw himself at Yuri and wrapped him in a hug so tight he actually lifted Yuri off the ground. Yuri, who in Victor’s body was several inches taller and significantly heavier.

“Oh, Yurachka!” Victor set Yuri back on the ground, arms still loose around his waist, and gazed up at him with so much joy in his face Yuri found it impossible to look away.

Victor didn’t say anything else, just continued to _look_ , and it took all of Yuri’s will to finally tear his eyes away. They had things they needed to figure out, to do. They couldn’t just stay on the sidewalk doing...whatever this was all day.

“Um, we should...go? You must be tired or hungry or something, right?”

Victor finally released him with a sigh, one hand coming up to cup his cheek as one corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk. “Um, yes. Thirsty, I think. Very thirsty.”  
  
Yuri practically fled to the car.

##  
  
Phitchit had warned Victor that Yuri was shy, but he’d been left woefully unprepared for the fact that sober Yuri Katsuki was also unbelievably _adorable_. Now, Victor wasn’t dumb—he knew people found him attractive. If being honest about it, he rather enjoyed the attention his looks garnered. Or he had. Lately, it just seemed one more wall between himself and, well, anything real.

But, Yuri, Yuri made Victor’s body approachable, soft. Still lovely, because nothing Yuri touched could be anything other than beautiful, but vulnerable in a way Victor had never been. Had never allowed himself to be.

Now, if he could just get the man to talk to him. Probably it’d help if he could stop _touching_ him, but that was like asking Victor to stop breathing. Even now, the car console between them, Victor found himself reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind his ear or graze a shoulder.

Yuri never stopped him, but if the man made himself any smaller he might compress himself into a black hole. So, Victor needed to be the one to impose some willpower. After all, he wanted Yuri to like him, not want to run and hide.

  
Words. Words would help. Maybe.

“So, Yurachka,” Victor started, flailing for something, anything he might ask that wouldn’t embarrass the other man, “tell me about yourself. Do you have a lover?”

Victor wanted to slap himself as soon as the words escaped, especially when Yuri choked and hunched in even further.

“Ah...no. I...no.” Yuri glanced at him from the corner of his eye and then returned his full attention to the road. “Do..do you?”

Victor twisted in his seat, one leg up and back against the door so he could watch Yuri more fully. Not the most comfortable position, especially with the seat belt stretched painfully tight, but worth it for the view. “Nope.” He put his elbow on his knee and then chin on his hand. Perhaps if he opened up then Yuri would do the same? “It’s hard to meet people, you know? Most people just see,” he shrugged, throat unexpectedly tight, “well, everyone has this image of me, and it’s not really accurate. So, dating is difficult.”

Yuri glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Surprise widened his eyes, but then they softened with something else, something like sympathy. He didn’t say anything, but he did take one hand from the wheel and rest it on Victor’s arm. No pressure, no expectation. Just comfort.

Victor felt pressure build in his throat. Quickly he turned to look out the window, not ready for Yuri to see the grateful tears prickling the corner of his eyes.  
  
Neither man said anything for the rest of the trip to Victor’s apartment, but it was a gentle silence, peaceful.  
  
Yuri kept his hand on Victor’s arm the entire time.


	11. Home Again, Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insights and changes in priorities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, I keep meaning for them to actually talk about the body swap. I do. They just keep being too busy flirting.

“About fucking time.” Plisetsky stood from the stoop and opened the door to Victor’s apartment. “I walked your dumb dog.” He disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him.

Victor squeezed where his hand rested on Yuri’s elbow, shaking his head in wonder as he looked at the other man. “How did you get the angry kitten to walk Makka? He swears all dogs are an abomination in the face of feline superiority.”

Yuri looked down, a faint blush tinging his cheeks and ears. “I, um, didn’t? He kind of just...offered?”  
  


Not being prone to blushing, Victor never realized how dramatic such a thing looked against his pale skin. Adorable, really. But then everything Yuri did was either heart-stoppingly beautiful or breathtakingly cute. Even when he did it looking like Victor. “You, Yurachka, are some kind of wizard, you know that?”

Victor felt Yuri stiffen under his arms as he looked down with wide eyes. “I—no! I have no idea how this happened! I’m..I’m not--”  
  
“Sunshine,” Victor said as he pressed a finger gently to the (currently) taller man’s lips, “I was teasing, not blaming you. Though honestly, I think it might take more magic to make little Yuri _volunteer_ to walk any dog, much less mine, than what has happened to us.”

Shrinking with relief, Yuri offered Victor a shy smile as he turned away from the finger still brushing his lips. “Yura’s not so bad really. He’s kind of sweet in his own angry way.” The words were soft, but he spoke them with a bemused tone that made Victor’s heart flutter.

“To you perhaps. But,” Victor offered a teasing grin and tugged towards the door, “safer not to leave poor Makka alone with him too long, yes? And maybe we can talk more, get to know one another better?”

“You’re right.” Yuri took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. A fierce determination suddenly shone in his eyes. “Let’s go figure this out.”

Not what Victor had meant, but Yuri’s unexpected confidence had managed to punch all the air out of his lungs, leaving him helpless to respond. It seemed something of Drunk Yuri remained to his sober counterpart under the right circumstances.

Victor felt the smile overwhelm his face, wide enough to hurt, as he followed in Yuri’s wake.

##

Yura’s yelling faded to static as Yuri made tea in the kitchen, using the time to settle his nerves. He’d not really expected Victor to be so...tactile. His skin still tingled in all the places Victor had touched him since the airport.

So much about the man had surprised Yuri for years, but none of it prepared him for the reality of his idol. Victor the idol exuded charm, confidence, and a slight aloofness that only added to the mystique. Victor the man was...ridiculous. Silly and clingy and flirty. And so, so terribly lonely.

It made Yuri’s heart ache. Because behind the mask, Victor was, above all, so very, very _kind_. Despite being in the same situation as Yuri, Victor had continuously reached out and tried to set Yuri at ease rather than focus on his own concerns.

The least Yuri could do was fight past his anxiety enough to meet Victor halfway. And that started with dismantling the pedestal Yuri had put him on. He doubted he’d ever stop admiring Victor’s talent or wanting to be half the skater the other man was, but now Yuri realized a bigger goal.

He wanted to be worthy of Victor’s friendship. Well, perhaps he wanted something...more...than that but he found it hard to admit such, even in the sanctity of his own mind. Besides, Victor had admirers for days. He didn’t need someone else pining over him. He needed someone to take care of him, to be there for him. He needed a friend.

With a firm nod, Yuri stirred a bit of jam into the tea and brought it into the livingroom, offering it to Victor. “There was only marmalade. I hope that’s okay?”

Victor turned away from Yura’s diatribe with a pleased smile. “You made me tea? You’re so sweet, my sunshine.”  
  
Yuri flushed and fidgeted with the hem of his sweater, not able to meet Victor’s eyes. “Well, um...you said you were thirsty...in the car?”

“So I did.” Victor’s fingertips lingered on Yuri’s wrist as he took the cup. Something hot and playful warmed his eyes. Yuri had never known his eyes could look like that, intense and lightened to a rich caramel. He felt trapped, unable to look away. Hell, unable to _breathe_.

And then Yura kicked him in the shin. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Can you two just stop being disgusting for five minutes? Or am I the only one that cares you’ve _switched fucking bodies_?”

Victor quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t look away. “He knows?”  
  
Yuri nodded and moved to sit on the couch, Makka between him and Victor. “He figured it out pretty quickly.”

Victor beamed and leapped up to wrap Yura in a tight hug. “Kitten! I knew you cared!”  
  
Hissing and flailing, Yura almost knocked over the coffee table in his attempt to escape the embrace. “I _don’t!_ But he was talking about fucking video games and flubbing quad Salchows and calling Yakov sir--”

A deep, rasping wheeze filled the air as Victor released Yura and fell back onto the couch. It took Yuri a moment to realize the man didn’t need medical attention, but was, in fact, laughing.

“Sir! Oh, please, please tell me someone took a picture, kitten! His face must have been priceless!”

Yuri crossed his arms and bit his lip. “I really don’t understand why showing your coach basic courtesy is so funny. Much less why it made him smack me, declare me still drunk, and refuse to talk to me for the rest of the flight.”

That set Victor off even worse, and even Yura fought to hide a grin. Rolling his eyes, Yuri headed back into the kitchen. Once out of sight, he let a smile of his own settle into place. It was good to hear Victor laugh, even if it were at Yuri’s expense.

Yuri decided right then that switching bodies back was his second priority. Right behind making sure Victor always, always had a reason to laugh like that.


	12. What's in a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuri get some less than useful insights from Yura.

Yuri is positive Yura waits until both he and Victor are sipping tea to say, “So, my grandpa studies Russian legends and shit. I asked him about you guys.”

It’s deeply unfair that while Yuri spews tea everywhere Victor manages to hide his choking behind an adorable little cough and hand over his mouth. None of which is as important as what Yura actually _said_ , but Yuri’s brain chooses to focus on it first regardless. Fortunately, reason soon reasserts itself. “You told your grandfather about us?”

“Are you fucking insane?” Yura rolled his eyes so hard Yuri almost stood up to bring him some aspirin. That had to hurt. “You think I want to end up in a padded room somewhere. No! I just said I wanted to know more about the folklore, you know, Baba Yaga and shit.”

Victor put his tea down slowly, sitting back languidly, but all his attention focused on Yura like a cat on prey. “And, kitten? Did he have an answer for our dilemma then?”

“Eh, not really. Basically, it’s either a gift or a curse. If it’s a gift then you’ll switch back when whatever you’re meant to get from it is done.”  
  
Yuri saw the way tension sang in Victor’s frame, and he reached a hand out to rest on the crook of his arm. Victor took comfort in touch. “And if it’s a curse?” Yuri had to swallow to get the words out, but when he did they were firm, without a quiver. He needed to be strong right now. For Victor.

Yura shrugged, but the whites around his eyes and the way the corner of his lips belied the casual gesture. “Then one or both of you dies.” The boy waited a long moment as the heavy silence settled and then said, far too loudly, “I vote for Victor.”

A shocked gasp and then Victor sprawled across the arm of the chair, one hand clutching his chest and the other resting on his forehead. “The betrayal. The horror. Yuri, how can the little kitten be so cruel? You still love me, don’t you?”

Yuri reached out and patted Victor’s knee. “There, there, Vitya. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it.”

Yura crossed his arms and all but hissed. “The pig might be a disaster as a skater, but at least he’s not a fucking drama queen. Jesus, Victor!”

“You just condemned me to death! I think I get to be a little dramatic. Besides--”  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Yuri held up a hand. “Enough. No one is dying. Even if it is a curse, there’s always a way to break those. We’ll figure something out.”

Suddenly Yuri found himself covered by an armful of snuggly Victor. “At least Yuratchka still loves me,” he cooed as he buried his face in Yuri’s chest.

Patting his back awkwardly, Yuri found himself once again at a complete loss for words.

  
Yuri had no such problem. “Oh, fucking hell! You two figure your shit out. I’m going home!”

The door slammed behind him. Victor made no attempt to move, and Yuri found he didn’t mind.

##

Vitya. Yuri called him Vitya. Victor figured that if he did have to die now, at least he’d do so happy. Ecstatic even, given he currently laid sprawled across the love of his life, a strong, warm arm around his waist and another brushing the hair from his face.

Maybe he’d already died because this just _had_ to be heaven. “Sunshine, are you an angel?”

Yuri snorted in a decidedly unangelic manner. “Yes, clearly. Because all heavenly beings come with poor vision and crippling anxiety.”  
  
“You forgot atrocious fashion sense.”

Yuri waved a hand in the air before letting it fall back to Victor’s hair. “Not part of the standard package. That’s an upgrade. Though speaking of, I know I didn’t own that sweater. Please tell me you didn’t get a whole new wardrobe on me, Victor.”  
  
“I could, but that’d be a lie.” He snuggled in, Yuri’s hearbeat soothing and even under his cheek. “And Vitya.”

“What?”  
  
“You called me Vitya. You don’t get to go back to calling me Victor. It’s cruel.”

A sigh reverberated through Yuri’s chest and through Victor’s body (well, technically Yuri’s body, but whatever.) It felt like slipping into a warm bath, like coming home. Victor never wanted to stop feeling that way. “I’m serious, Yuratchka. I will answer to nothing less. Your fate has been sealed, from now until all time, my very life depends upon hearing you speak--”  
  
“You’re ridiculous, and we have more important things to worry about.”

Victor looked up and met Yuri’s gaze. He wished he could see the brown and gold eyes he remembered, but the humor dancing in the blue ones above him was an acceptable substitute. “There is nothing more important than this, Sunshine.”

Another indelicate snort. “Not even, say getting your body back?”

  
  
Victor shrugged. He...didn’t really care about that. At least not beyond the fact that he wanted Yuri, the whole and complete and _himself_ Yuri. “Nope. This is much more important. Vitya. Say it.”

“Not even Nationals?”

“Yuri! Stop teasing!”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Something playful and a little wicked danced at the edge of Yuri’s smile. Victor knew he’d never managed to twist his mouth quite like that, managed just that blend of faint apprehension and pure mischief. It made Victor’s heart speed up almost painfully. And then it stopped completely when Yuri twisted and added right in Victor’s ear, “Viten’ka.”

Victor gaped, face crimson. Only shock kept him from kissing Yuri then and there. And by the time he recovered, the other man had pulled back, face equally red and turned away. But, his hand still rested in Victor’s hair, and neither man made any attempt to move.

Victor counted that as a win. One that mattered more than all the gold medals in the world.


	13. Home is More Than Just a Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some revelations and answers of a sort.

Eventually even Victor admitted they had to leave the apartment and face the world. And by world, he meant, of course, Yakov. Truthfully, he considered getting back on a plane to Detroit just to avoid the confrontation—either Yakov realized something was wrong, recognized Victor in this new body, and lost his mind (and the rest of his hair), or he didn’t. And Victor had to face the fact the man that practically raised him knew or cared so little about him as a person as to not notice him becoming someone else entirely.

The possibility hurt far more than Victor expected. He doubted he’d have made it out the doot at all if not for Yuri silently taking his hand and squeezing gently as he guided them both out onto the stoop.

Where, unfortunately, they were immediately accosted by a horde of reporters. Flashes went off in rapid succession, and rapid-fire questions shot into the air. “Victor, what is your relationship with Yuri Katsuki? Is he going to be training here in Russia? Does this change your plans for the season?”

Victor felt his plasticine media smile settle into place as he stepped forward to respond, right up until a sharp tug on the hand still in Yuri’s stopped him. Silver hair tickled his cheek as Yuri leaned over to whisper, almost too soft for him to hear, much less the reporters, “You’re not Victor, remember?”  
  
Right. Right. But, Yuri, poor, shy, gentle Yuri did not deserve dealing with this mob. His cheeks were already flushed a deep red and shoulders slowly migrating up to his ears. “And you do not have to humor them, Sunshine. A simple ‘No comment’ is more than they deserve.”

Yuri coughed once. Then again as Victor watched as he pushed his shoulders down and chin up through pure determination. “We have no comment at this time. Thank you.”

Victor felt bereft when Yuri released his hand, but only until he realized the currently taller man did so in order to wrap his arm around Victor’s shoulders and hold him close as they pushed through the crowd.

Voices continued to shout, but Victor stopped hearing them. His own pounding heart drowned them out.

##

Yuri lost himself on the ice. He knew Victor’s routines. He knew all of Victor’s routines from his Junior Grand Prix win through the current ones. But knowing them and being able to do them weren’t the same thing.

His quad Salchow improved tremendously with Yura’s help, but that still left three quads to master, one of which—the quad lutz—Yuri had never even attempted. And he had no idea how to go about convincing Yakov to teach them to him without revealing himself an imposter.

Perhaps Victor would be able to do it before he returned to Detroit. If not, then Yuri would have to do what he always did before. Watch video of Victor and copy it until something clicked. In the meantime, he had several complicated step sequences to perfect, and that he knew he’d manage just fine with enough time.

He’d get the jumps, too. Not doing so meant failing at the Russian Nationals. Failing Victor. Yuri wouldn’t let that happen. For Victor he’d do anything. For Victor he’d do more than jump; he’d learn to fly.

##

Even wearing Victor’s body, Yuri moved as if made of music. Victor wondered if the other man even realized he’d transformed the step sequences from his program, adding an element of grace and complexity that left Victor stunned.

Transfixed, Victor didn’t even notice Yakov step up beside him until the other man chose to speak.

“You could learn a lot from that boy.”

Shoulders tensing, Victor bit back his first, second, and third responses. He was supposed to be Yuri, and Yuri respected Yakov. The Japanese man would die of embarrassment should Victor respond as he wanted. “Well, he is considered the best in the world.”

Yakov huffed. “Come now, we both know that’s not the case. Though,” the man paused, “I think perhaps he could be. Don’t you, Vitya?”

Head turning slowly, Victor stared at his coach. The man remained facing straight ahead, expression unreadable. “Yakov?”

The man shot a quick glance from the corner of his eye. “Celestino and I talked about you two, after the banquet.”  
  
“Did you—Yakov!” He turned to fully take in the other man, eyes wide and hands moving like birds taking flight. “Did you do this?”

“No.” Yakov folded his arm and huffed again. “Boy needs to stop hesitating as he enters his jumps.” Shaking his head he turned to face Victor. “We didn’t do this, Celestino and I, but...” he paused, shaking his head again, “it is not something unheard of to us. Though this particular manifestation is unique.”

Victor collapsed against the edge of the rink, draped against it like discarded jacket. “Not...but how? Why? _Who_?”

“Stand up. You’re not a damsel on some fainting couch, Vitya. I don’t know how, no one does. But most coaches have stories, whispers shared when too much vodka has been spilled. Some people the ice loves more than others. When they start to slip away, she...reaches out.” He glanced out over the rink where Yuri danced to a melody made of movement and passion. “Perhaps the thought of losing both of you made her reach harder. I do not know.”  
  
He turned away then, back straight and voice gruffer than normal. A sign Victor had learned over the years meant his coach wanted to hide much deeper emotions. “Happiness looks good on you, Vitya. It’s been missing too long.” He started to stomp away, voice firm as icicles in the air. “Now, get out on the ice and practice. Magic is no reason to get sloppy.”


	14. Transitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter as Yuri and Victor come to terms with what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading into the homestretch now, and this chapter is a bit of a transitory one as things gear up towards a resolution. It might be a little indulgent, and it'd definitely short, but it felt necessary. I will hopefully have a longer, more typical chapter sometime later tonight.

Yuri just hit his end pose when Victor came flying into him, knocking them both to the ice. “Yuratchka! Yakov _knows_.”

Yuri nodded because that seemed like a reasonable response to the words coming at him like so much static. All of Yuri’s verbal processing had been rerouted to being hyper-aware of Victor sprawled against his chest, one arm thrown behind him to protect Yuri’s head from the ice.

They really needed to stop ending up like this. Eventually. Right? Maybe? Or, you know, not. Because despite the ice beneath him Yuri had never felt so warm.

“Vitya! That is not practicing! Let the boy up.”

The sharp voice broke through Yuri’s haze, and blood rushed to his face. Seriously, at this point it might as well start paying rent in his cheeks since it basically lived there. “Sorry, Mr. Felt—Yakov.”

Victor chuckled, and the rumble of it coursed through the space where their bodies touched and sent a shiver down Yuri’s spine. “Sunshine, he’s not mad at you! Come,” he shifted, attempting to pull them both off the ice.  
  
It failed. Victor, unlike Yuri, had clearly not spent enough time getting acquainted with his current body, and then ended up once more sprawled tangled up together. Victor gaped, as if the sheer concept of falling rocked some fundamental natural rule. As if the entire universe had betrayed him personally. All Yuri could think was that he looked adorable, such a _Victor_ expression at odds and out of place on Yuri’s own face. And so, Yuri did the only thing he could. He burst out laughing.

Victor turned the betrayed expression on Yuri for a split second, but then he too started chuckling. Soon, the two of them were laying on the ice side by side giggling like little kids. As soon as one would start to get it under control the other would look at them and the whole things started again until they were both so winded and giddy all they could do was gasp for breath.

Neither knew when they’d taken each other’s hands, or when Yakov had finally given up and left. Neither cared. In that moment the entire world was them, their entwined hands, and the ice, echoing back their laughter to them as if joining in.

##

They spent the week skating, sometimes together, sometimes separately. Victor woke each morning terrified they’d switched back and Yuri would disappear. In the short time they’d spent together —sharing meals, walking Makkachin, helping with each others’ routines—Victor had realized he _needed_ Yuri. Needed his unconditional acceptance, his eye rolls and always unexpected snark, his quiet calm that balanced Victor’s own whirlwind dramatics.

  
And Victor feared that need doomed them. Because if Yakov were right, if the ice did this to keep them with her, then his sheer longing for the something _more_ Yuri represented, well, for once in his life something mattered to him more than skating, than surprising people. For once Victor found he wanted to make Yuri happy, to _be_ happy.

He just prayed Yuri wanted the same. Even if it meant they never got their bodies back.

##

Yuri landed a quad flip during his last practice before traveling for Russian Nationals. For a moment after his skates touched the ice he just froze, unable to truly believe he’d finally, finally, gotten a handle on this last element of Victor’s programs.

To believe he might actually be able to do them, to do them well. To do them well enough to win. He was going to win. Yuri Katsuki was going to win Russian Nationals. For Victor.

He risked a glance over at where the other man practiced, and found brown eyes looking back, soft and glowing with affection. Yuri smiled; Victor smiled back.

Yuri wanted to skate on the same ice with him forever.


	15. We Call Everything on the Ice Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally figure out what they need most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. We have come to the end of this particular tale. I hope people enjoyed it.
> 
> Now, I have to figure out what I want to work on next. If people have suggestions I'd be happy to hear them. :)

Yuri took gold at the Russian Nationals. Victor did the same in Japan. They remained in the wrong bodies.

Victor told himself he didn’t mind, but it wasn’t quite the truth. Not all the truth anyway. Sure, he definitely preferred being in Yuri’s body if it meant having Yuri in his life, but...It felt wrong. Wrong for Yuri to have to learn how to put on a media smile because that’s what Victor had always done, and now Yuri had to because he was trapped in the shell Victor had created. Wrong to look across the dinner table and see Yuri’s shy smile on Victor’s face, wrong to be shorter than Yuri and unable to enfold him completely when the panic attacks came—fewer now, but still there.

Wrong to so desperately want to kiss the man he loved and know Yuri never would, not because he didn’t want to—Victor saw the looks, the longing. Those he recognized on his own face better than he did the determination and raw stubbornness Yuri brought to skating. No, Yuri wouldn’t kiss him for the same reason he took the fastest showers humanly possible. Because he felt like a guest in Victor’s body and he’d never, never do anything that might count as disrespecting it.

It moved Victor as much as it infuriated him. But, time went on. They continued to work together in Russia, Yuri still officially under Cialdini but Yakov’s student (favorite student even) in all but name.

Yuri won gold at the European Championships. Victor got silver at Four Continents. _Silver._

Standing in the elevator with Cialdini, all he could do was stare at the medal. He held it away from himself like a snake about to strike. Then he shook it once as if that might cause it to somehow change colors and be the gold he’d expected.

“I don’t understand.” Victor looked over at Cialdini's back as the man exited the elevator. “I..what happened?”

The coach looked over his shoulder. “Honestly? You were a little stiff in your step sequence.” The man shrugged. “You probably got underscored on your PCS, too? These judges know Yuri; they expect more from him.”

“I suppose it’s good someone does,” Victor muttered before biting his lip hard. Yuri probably wouldn’t care about the medal, but he’d be furious if Victor picked a fight with his coach.

Cialdini didn’t say anything until he got to his room and held the door open, gesturing for Victor to come in with one hand. “Why don’t you go ahead and get it off your chest?”

Victor paused, tapping his foot in time with the finger against his lips. He shouldn’t. It wasn’t his place. Screw it. Someone needed to speak up for Yuri, and in this at least, Yuri seemed content to remain silent. So, Victor would do it for him.

He bounced into the room, and turned to face Cialdini as soon as the door closed. “You don’t believe in him. He’s amazing, Ciao Ciao. Possibly the best men’s skater in the world right now, and you just—you...”  
  
“I what, Victor?” Cialdini fell into a chair with a sigh. He looked calm, almost uninterested.

Victor’s blood boiled. “He left and you haven’t even _tried_ to get him back! Like he’s just some disposable fill-in you don’t need.”

“Technically, _you_ left, but that’s besides the point. What would you have had me do? Chase him around the world and drag him back? Who would I have taken? You, who everyone thinks is Yuri? Or Victor Nikiforov, Russian darling and Living Legend? How do you imagine that would have played out exactly?”

Victor sank down onto the floor, elbows on his knees and head hanging down. He’d let Yuri’s hair grow the last few months and it hung down to his shoulders, falling in a curtain that hid Victor’s face. “You let him down before the swap. He should have been winning gold for years. He should have _beat_ me at the Grand Prix. He’s good enough.”

“I know.”

Victor’s head snapped up. Celestino didn’t meet his eyes, just gazed in the direction of the window though the ugly orange and gold curtains blocked any kind of view. Neither man spoke until the tension in the room grew tight and heavy.

Finally, with a sigh, Cialdini broke the quiet that had fallen like a shroud. “Yuri’s the best skater I’ve ever worked with, but he doesn’t believe it. He hates to lose, but he refuses to believe he can win. And I’ve never figured out how to change that. I can’t push him any harder than he pushes himself, and I just—I guess somewhere down the line I just figured some things couldn’t be fixed.”  
  
“So, you just gave up on him?” Victor’s voice cracked, and he genuinely didn’t know if it was from rage or heartache. Yuri deserved so much more; he deserved someone that had enough faith for both of them.

“I didn’t see it that way. Not at the time. But then this,” he kind of waved in Victor’s direction with a bit of wonder in his sad smile, “and I realized I should have let Yuri go a long time ago. Let him find a coach that could offer what he needed.”

Victor stared. “But, when we switch back, does that mean you’re cutting ties?”

“I would, but Yuri already told me weeks ago he intends to stay in Saint Petersburg. I thought you knew this?”

Leaping to his feet, Victor almost ended up back on the floor when he got tangled in his skate bag, but desperation granted him preternatural grace and speed as he fled from the room and to his own. His laptop waited there, and on the other end of a video chat, Yuri.

  
They needed to have a long talk.

##

It’d been three days but Yuri still found himself staring at the gold medal on his desk. He’d done it. He’d kept Victor’s winning streak alive. And he’d done it by skating two nearly perfect programs. Not quite enough to break records, but easily the best Yuri had ever done.

He almost didn’t mind Victor got all the credit. After all, he’d worked so hard to be good enough _for_ Victor. To protect the legacy the older man had built and the Yuri refused to wreck, no matter how much the voices in his head screamed he’d never be good enough to keep up, that he’d fail and fail and fail.

That he’d miss the gold and lose Victor forever.

The gold medal proved those voices wrong. Yuri had been good enough to be Victor. So, why did looking at it make him so angry? When exactly had Yuri decided good enough wasn’t, well, good enough?

When had he gone from wanting to be good enough to be Victor to wanting to be good enough to beat Victor? Had it been before or after he realized how lonely winning made the other man, how the pressure to always be the best came at the cost of Victor’s joy for skating?

Yes, but also no. Yes, he wanted to win because somehow he knew Victor needed that, needed a rival, someone to fight against, someone to share the weight of the expectations, to make winning a challenge again. But, no, because if Yuri were being honest, the seed of this desire had been planted long ago, when he first watched Victor win the Grand Prix. When he looked at the older man and thought, “I want to skate like that,” and what he really meant in his secret heart hidden even from himself was, “I can do that. I can do _better_ than that.”

He’d just never actually let himself believe it until now.

A chime from his computer pulled him from the thoughts. An alert for an incoming video call. Even in the midst of his grand revelation, the thought of talking to Victor pulled a soft, sappy smile from him, and Yuri hurried to answer the call.

“Vitya,” he smiled as a mop of dark hair appeared on the screen, “you really need to get a hair cut. It’s long enough for a ponytail now.”

“You, Yurachka,” the man said looking up with a glower, though Yuri knew it for fake when one corner of his mouth twitched, “have been keeping secrets. Secrets!” He clutched his chest and pretended to sob. “From me.”

Yuri went still. Had Victor somehow intuited his recent thoughts. The man, for all his theatrics, had a keen awareness of people. It wouldn’t be that out of line that he’d picked up on Yuri’s feelings before Yuri himself had. “I...um...sorry? Which, uh, secret are we talking about?”

Victor gasped. “Which one? Sunshine! How many do you have? Are you secretly a spy? Guilty of a heinous crime?” His eyes went wide and voice low and strained as if he’d thought of something so unimaginable it could barely be spoken. “Are you hiding another dog from me, Yuri? Do you have a puppy and you are not sharing it?”

Yuri pinched the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t quite contain the soft chuckle. “No, Vitya, I don’t have some special puppy stash I’m keeping from you.”

“Well, good. Because that would be unforgivable.”

Yuri chuckled again, cheeks flushed. “So, not that I don’t love talking to you, but it’s after midnight here and you should be getting dinner and celebrating, shouldn’t you?”

Victor scowled. “Dinner can wait. Why didn’t you tell me you dropped Cialdini as your coach?”

“Oh.” Yuri looked away as he gathered his thoughts. So, that was what this was about. “I guess I just...I mean, I assumed everyone knew? Since, you know, living in Russia now?”

“Okay, but what happens when we switch bodies back? You know Yakov isn’t allowed non-Russian skaters. You need a plan--”  
  
“Lilia is certified as an assistant coach to work with Yakov’s skaters. She agreed to take me—well, you—I...us?--You know what I mean. She agreed to be the coach of record. Though I kind of got the impression Yakov intended to do the actual coaching? It’s still kind of being worked out though.”

“So, you’re staying? Even after—you’re staying?”

Yuri saw the hope in Victor’s eyes, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to be able to reach through the computer screen and hug him. He looked so vulnerable. “Oh, Vitya, of course I’m staying. Everything I...” He trailed off, afraid to say too much, more afraid to say to little.

But, Victor needed the words, and like always happened when Victor needed him, Yuri found the strength to let go of his fear and reach for happiness. “Everything I need is wherever you are, Vitya.”

Yuri saw the moment Victor really took in the words. He watched the smile that started delicate as a petal and ended brighter than the sun, saw the tears they both ignored, saw the shadows fade away from his eyes.

“Yurachka...” Victor whispered, voice reverent, and then his face seemed to twist as if he’d bitten a lemon. “Did you watch the competition?”

Yuri blinked. Victor could be mercurial, but even for him this was an abrupt change of topic. Maybe...maybe Yuri had been wrong? Maybe Victor didn’t want his...didn’t want him? And this was his way of letting Yuri down gently?

“I...um, no. I wanted to, but Georgi fell at practice, sprained his knee—he’d going to be fine in a few weeks--and well, I got nominated to go to the hospital with him.”

“I got silver. I lost, Yuri. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Silver is better than I’ve ever done at Four Continents.” And, yeah, it surprised Yuri that Victor, of all people, didn’t get gold, but in the face of...well, it didn’t matter. Wouldn’t have mattered if Victor came in dead last. Not as long as Victor still wanted Yuri in his life.

Victor scowled harder. “I don’t get _silver_ , Yuri. I let you down.”

“No, Vitya, you didn’t.” Yuri snorted. “And technically, according to the rest of the world, _you_ still haven’t gotten less than gold. Plus, honestly, I’m guessing no one expected Yuri Katsuki to even place, so you’re still way ahead of the curve.”  
  
“But--”  
  
Yuri put his hand up to cut Victor off. “Did you have fun?”

“What?” Victor ran his hands through his hair as he stared at Yuri. It made the dark hair fall around his face in an adorable tumble.

Yuri wanted to brush it back from his face and tell him everything would be alright. Except, right now Victor didn’t need that kind of comfort. He needed something more important “Skating. Did you have fun skating in the competition?”

“I...guess.” Victor’s head tilted and a finger came up to his lips as he pondered. “I...hmm. Yurachka, it’s really okay that I didn’t get gold?”

“Of course it is, Vitya. As long as you went out there and skated with your heart.”  
  
“And if I didn’t?”

“Then you better start.” Yuri shrugged, but he made sure to look Victor straight in the eyes. “Or what’s the point of being out there in the first place?”

Victor laughed. “So, you’re telling me you’re not happy with your medals then, Yurachka?”  
  
“Of course, I am,” Yuri snorted. “I put everything I had into getting them. What I’m saying, Viten’ka, is you might as well do the skating you love best out there, because come Worlds you’re going to be looking at another silver and I don’t want you to feel bad about my beating you.”

Something intangible that had been missing from Victor’s eyes for as long as Yuri had known him seemed to flood back into being, making the man light up from within. A spark reignited. “Is that so, Sunshine? I hope you’re still so confident when we meet on the ice because I have no intention of letting you take my place without a fight.”  
  
Good, Yuri thought. Good. But, instead of saying it, he just tossed a wink at the screen. “Keep dreaming.”

“Of you, always.”  
  
Yuri flushed and tossed out a quick good night before scrambling to end the call, but he fell asleep with Victor’s pillow in his arms and a smile on his face.

##

Victor went straight from the airport to the ice rink. Despite having no practice scheduled, Yuri waited there, as if by some strange telepathy both had known where they needed to be in that moment. They met at the center of the ice, hands reaching out first, but they ended with arms around each other, entangled and spinning gently.

“I missed you.” Victor felt Yuri’s words against his skin as much as he heard them, and he gently stilled their motion as he looked up at the man that had reminded him how to live.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Sunshine.”

“Vitya--” Yuri tried to back away, but Victor held him tight.

“Do you not want me to?” He raised a hand to cup the pale cheek above him. A cheek quickly turning a delicate red. And while Victor loved to see that effect, once again he found himself wishing to see it where it belonged, on Yuri’s own face.  
  
“I..I do, but...” Yuri looked down, biting his lip in a distressingly adorable manner.

“But nothing. It’s my body, and I’ve fine with you using it to kiss me, Yurachka. More than fine. Desperate, in fact.”

“Oh.” Yuri nodded to himself then and locked eyes with Victor. “Okay then.”

For once Victor moved slowly so as to _not_ knock them down on the ice as he stretched up and placed his lips against Yuri’s...or well, placed Yuri’s lips against his. The semantics didn’t matter. What mattered was cold skin and warm mouths and the way his heart beat in time with the one under his hand as they came together. It felt like him. It felt like _everything_.

  
Then Victor opened his eyes. And found himself looking down at Yuri. _At Yuri_. With his messy dark hair and sparkling brown eyes and beautiful flushed cheeks. It took his breath away.

“Vitya…” Yuri whispered from his place in Victor’s arms. “You...”  
  
They’d switched back, and Victor knew he probably needed to address that, but he found that something more important needed to be said first, so, he took Yuri’s face in his hands and kissed him again, quick and light. “I love you, Yurachka.”

Yuri beamed, that smile Victor first saw at the banquet, the one that had initially started his tired heart beating again. “I love you, too, Vitya.” And then the smile turned mischievous as Yuri stretch up and placed a kiss on Victor’s jaw just where it met his neck. “But, I’m still going to beat you at Worlds.”  
  
And then Yuri was pulling out of his arms and racing away. “And also, tag, your it.”  
  
It was so random and silly, so...free that Victor had no choice but to give chase, dancing and laughing as they weaved around the rink. Their blades made soft snicks and swooshes that added a background of rhythm to the melody of their teasing gibes and soft endearments as though in their game Victor and Yuri sang the song of their love.

  
Victor liked to think if he listened closely he could just about hear the ice singing back. It was music he could listen to forever.


End file.
